


i grapple with words

by graceverse



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabbles, F/M, Jonsa Drabble Challenge, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-30 09:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13948275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceverse/pseuds/graceverse
Summary: entries for the Jon x Sansa Drabble fest





	1. all that matters to him

_**Mountains | Stone by Stone | Winterfell** _

 

He finds her hidden in the mountains. Her hair is dark as his and her blue eyes, once bright and filled with dreams and songs had dulled, darkened by the tears she’s trying to fight. Her once radiant face had become pale and wary but she is still as beautiful as Jon remembers. More so now that the gentle curves of her cheeks had tapered into fine high cheekbones, much like her mother’s. His heart clenches when she meets his gaze and somewhere inside Jon’s chest, his heart jumps.

She is introduced to him as Alayne Stone, but Jon knows. And underneath the calm smile he offers her, he is deeply insulted that she has to endure the shame of being a called and treated as a bastard. He knows this all too well and it isn’t fair that after everything that she has been through — Baelish will pay for that and for all his crimes against The Starks. Jon will let Sansa decide and if she wishes for Littlefinger’s head on a pike; or for his tongue and heart to be devoured by Ghost, Jon will oblige.  

He dismisses everyone in the room and Sansa watches quietly at the murmured, ‘yes your, Grace.’ Her breath hitches. But she is everything that he had wished and prayed and dreamed of: alive and safe!

And it is all that matters to him.

She trembles as he touches her and gently, gently, he tucks her inside his arms. He isn’t a knight rescuing her; he is a husband claiming his wife. Or so she had been made to believe. He tells her that everything will be alright. Jon understands her fear and her reluctance but he will give her back what is rightfully hers and whatever she so wishes, he will fulfill all of it for her. She clutches his hand, she does not have a list of names whose heads he could and  _would_ offer up to her, instead she tearfully begs him to take her back home, let her remember, let her be within the walls that will give her back her life, her purpose, her destiny.

Jon swears that he will vanquish and conquer anything that will stand in their way. For her. For the sister he had thought he had lost, for the innocent girl that the Southern Lords have thought to claim and ruin, but had failed to, because she is a Stark. She is the daughter of Winterfell and together, they will ride back to The North and retake everything that has been stolen from them and in doing so, perhaps Jon can appease the gods and they shall finally grant him his heart’s truest desire: a home, a family.


	2. strong, gentle and brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon doesn’t treat her as a stranger. He doesn’t shy away from. Some days, he’s bold enough to help her into her gray palfrey, hands going around her waist, the hard planes of his chest and thigh pressing against her and Sansa feels warm and shivery at the same time.

_**Crown of Winter | Travel | Father** _

It’s been three days since Jon has taken her from the Vale. He rides next to her, always. Does not let her out of his sight and if it couldn’t be helped, tasks Ghosts to follow her around. Sansa doesn’t complain or think much of it. Jon is careful to give her the privacy she needs, but makes sure that she feels safe and protected. It takes her a while to realize that she’s not as afraid as she was before, she has stopped trying to listen to sounds of thundering hoof beats catching up to them to take her back to the Vale or worst, to King’s Landing. She has stopped stealing quick glances behind her or jumping at every sudden sound or imagined shadows lurking around.

Jon doesn’t say anything, but she knows that he’s aware of how nervous she has been. Jon doesn’t offer her empty reassurances, instead he keeps her updated, letting her know how far they had traveled, how far they are now from the South and Sansa could feel it too: the crisp cool winter air, the soft gentle snow drifting down and settling on her eyelashes, forming a silver winter crown on her hair.

She likes Jon’s calm, quiet presence. More than she thought was possible. He isn’t the same boy, who used to sulk in the corner, his eyes downcast, hands balled in angry fists. Sansa thinks she understands him a little better now, it must not have been easy, being inside the walls of Winterfell but feeling like an unwanted outsider.

Jon has changed just as much as she has. He’s become a man and she had felt it too when he had held her against him, swearing to protect her, to return her to Winterfell. It surprises her to realize that Jon reminded him of father’s words, his promise: a man who is strong, gentle and brave.

Sansa feels her heart beat quickening, unsure of what to make of this insight. She locks it away, for now, to be examined later on.

Jon doesn’t treat her as a stranger, doesn’t shy away from. Some days, he’s bold enough to help her into her gray palfrey, large strong hands gripping her waist, the hard planes of his chest and thigh pressing against her and Sansa feels warm and shivery at the same time. He encourages her to talk to him, to ask questions, to let him know if something displeases her.

Sansa has no complaint, accepts everything that she is given: food, clothing, watered down wine. She assures Jon that she isn’t bothered by the many hours spent on the road.

One day, Jon surprises her with lemon cake. She doesn’t know how he got it. Perhaps from one of the bakeries they have passed by. He shyly hands it to her and she greedily eats it, letting out a sigh of delight, graciously thanking Jon.

He beams at her, eyes darkening as he nodded his head: “There you are, Sansa.”


	3. coming home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon thinks it unnerving, how their roles have suddenly been reversed. It should not be. He has taken what is rightfully hers. He is determined to make it right.

****_**Snow and Stone | Past | Children** _

 

Snow. Crowned as King. Northern Lords kneel as he walks past them, heading towards the Lord’s Chambers. He can hear murmurs around them, questions that needed answering. They will have to wait; Jon has more important matters to attend to.

Stone. Pale and silent as Ghost, she keeps her head low, the curtain of black hair hiding her face. The Lords does not know it yet, but Ned Stark’s true born daughter has returned. Jon will let her rest for a while before he presents her to her banner men. She will be cloaked in the finest furs, soft fox felt dyed gray, the Stark sigil she will wear upon her neck.

Jon has everything readied. As soon as he had heard of whispers of a winter’s daughter hidden high upon the Vale, he had tasked the castle’s remaining trusted servants to salvage Lady Catelyn’s robes, dresses and jewelries that the Boltons had not stolen. He hopes it will please her.

Jon thinks it unnerving, how their roles have suddenly been reversed. It should not be. He has taken what is rightfully hers. He is determined to make it right.

He stops in front of the door, wordlessly opens it and waits for Sansa to enter. He watches as she swallows, her throat nervously bobbing, bringing his attention the exquisite line of her neck. She hesitates for a moment, but Jon, unable to stop himself, snakes his arm around her waist and gently prods her inside. He tells her this is to be her room, she opens her mouth but Jon stops her with a raised hand. “Please, Sansa.”

She reluctantly nods her head. She still hasn’t said anything. Jon takes a step closer and is filled with relief when Sansa did not flinch or move away from him. He reaches out to touch the ends of Sansa’s hair. She watches him as he slowly, gently wraps it around his fist. 

Jon’s memory is a muddled mess. There are things he can no longer remember. The past is a blur of nightmares and dreams, of visions and wishes, fears and hopes. Sometimes he cannot trust his own mind, but he is certain that he remembers the way Sansa’s hair used to shine when they were children: rich auburn, with copper highlights shining like precious gems. 

In the afternoons, when she’s walking across the castle and the sun hits her, Jon used to think of her as glowing and radiant, completely out of his reach. He remembers her sweet face as she begged Robb for a crown made of winter roses. Robb always obliges, placing it tenderly on top of her head. Sansa used to kiss Robb affectionately on the cheeks.

“Will this wash out?” He asks quietly, his voice sounding young and hopeful.

Sansa’s eyes widen, she takes a long deep breath. She wraps her own hand around Jon’s and nods her head.

Jon is filled with sweet relief and he suddenly, finally feels like he has come home. 


	4. together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is safe within the castle’s wall. She is safe with Jon. As though he hears his name whispered inside her mind, Jon takes a step to stand beside her. She feels the heat of Jon’s gaze. Sansa closes her eyes, trying to calm her heart.

_**True North | Your and Me | Castles** _

 

High up on the castle’s ramparts, Sansa sees nothing but endless white, perfect snow, she breathes in the sharp cold air of the true north. Snow gently swirls around her. Winter is here now just as father had promised. She suddenly feels lightheaded, the sharp pang of his loss still takes her by surprise.  She feels absolutely gutted. She fights the urge to clutch her stomach and fold herself in half.

She is back in Winterfell, Sansa reminds herself. She’s survived King’s Landing and the Lannisters. She’s escaped the Vale and Littlefinger. She’ll be as strong and brave as Father and Mother and Robb.

Sansa remembers bathing inside the Lord’s Chambers, the dark dye from her hair running against her pale skin. Afterwards she found her reflection in a grimy mirror: Tully blue eyes, wet auburn hair sticking against her neck. For the first time, she recognizes the girl looking back at her.

She starts to shed the torments and sorrows clinging within her. At night she can close her eyes without the paralyzing fear of waking up in the middle of the night, unwanted fingers ghosting against her legs.

She is safe within the castle’s wall. She is safe with Jon. As though he hears his name whispered inside her mind, Jon takes a step to stand beside her. She feels the heat of Jon’s gaze. Sansa closes her eyes, trying to calm her heart.

Jon had presented her to the Northern Lords. They had stared at her as though she was a ghost, someone that had come back from the dead. She does not recognize any of them. Most of those that she had seen growing up had died with Robb at the Red Wedding. The remaining heirs were second sons, daughters, nephews, nieces. But they had all knelt down and pledged their swords and lives to her, Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark, now Lady of Winterfell.

Jon is bitterly disappointed that the Northern Lord still wants him to be their King, he has given them the rightful heir and yet they still call on him to rule over them. He tells her this, face dark with fury. He insists that he will talk to the Lords, remind them of their vows to Lord Eddard Stark.

“They have chosen you, Jon.” Sansa tells him. Her childish dreams of becoming Queen have brought her nothing but pain.

“I am not a Stark.” It almost sounds like a whispered plea and Sansa was quick to take Jon’s hand, forcing him to look at her.

She keeps her stare steady, wanting, needing Jon to believe her. “You are to me.”

Jon’s eyes searches hers, he looks impossibly vulnerable and Sansa boldly takes a step forward, twining their fingers together. “We are both the blood of father.”

“I am no King, I can’t--”

“We can. I’ll help you. If you let me. We’ll rebuild Winterfell. We’ll protect the North. Together. You and me.”

“Aye, Sansa. Together.”


	5. he cloaks her in his darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He makes her his, in all the possible way to claim a woman: he cloaks her in his darkness, hides her away, and keeps her within his embrace that is wrong and right all at the same time.

_**Cloaking | Steal Me | The Long Night** _

 

Days are becoming shorter, the nights longer and colder. Icy darkness creeps into the castle and Jon feels a strange thrumming inside his veins. He hasn’t felt truly cold since he has come back from the dead. He isn’t sure if it’s because of the constant warmth blooming inside his chest, spreading inside of him, its heat becoming almost unbearable every time he is near her.

His fingertips itch to touch her skin, so pale and pure and  _soft_. He’s held her one too many times and now he has grown quite addicted. Sansa Stark. Lady of Winterfell. His half-sister. The distinction does not make it any less of a sin, does not make it any less shameful but Jon still wants and he still needs and aches for her.

He sleeps lightly, dreamless and empty. It is almost worse than having nightmares; he lies in bed and conjures up scenes where he can steal Sansa away. She is always willing and when Jon is too tired to control his feelings, Sansa’s willingness turns into wantonness and he kisses her  _everywhere._ Every inch of her skin and she sighs and sings and calls out his name. He makes her his, in all the possible way to claim a woman: he cloaks her in his darkness, hides her away, and keeps her within his embrace that is wrong and right all at the same time.  

Jon forces himself to remember. Remember father and Robb and Lady Catelyn. They will not approve. They will not allow it (but he truly, deeply does not care).  

Jon grits his teeth, clenches his jaws, and turns all of his focus on the coming Long Night, the wars that were threatening them from all sides.

The Night King and his army of wights are trudging towards The Wall that Jon knows is not impenetrable.  

From the South, Cersei has proclaimed herself Queen. She will not accept the North’s independence. She might, if Jon will hand Sansa over to her, but Jon will rather march South, just so he could kill her with his bare hands.

From the Narrow Sea, a Targaryen with three dragons is also laying claim on the Kingdom and the Iron Throne. Jon wonders about the truth of her dragons. She is too far yet to be of any real concern. Jon wishes there is a way to convince her that there will be no kingdom to conquer if the Night King is not vanquished.

It does not matter. Jon will end the Lannisters and the Targaryens if they ever make the mistake of coming here in Winterfell. He is willing to foolishly sacrifice men to defend his home.

 _Sansa is his home_.

Jon has finally accepted this truth. He protects it fiercely, careful never to let anyone know. Love is the death of honor. But it is also the reason why he is still alive and fighting. Let him be alive and with her than be honorable, a ghost without a home.


	6. here is her future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are the remaining wolves. This is her pack now. Together, they can survive.

_**Future | Protection | Weriwood** _

 

Bran has returned. Arya has returned. And Jon is no longer her bastard half-brother. It is nothing like the songs of her childhood. Brave Knights and Royal Princes were never hidden in the North, treated so unjustly, stabbed to death by sworn brothers, resurrected to steal away brides imprisoned amongst mountains. They never wore dark, stormy expressions in their faces, they do not make proper ladies like her curl up in bed, inexperienced fingers searching for release, delirious with desire, panting, burning through the night, whispering his name like a poem or a prayer to any gods that were listening:  _Jon. Jon. Jon_

Sansa’s secret used to shame her so. A half-brother bastard. What would mother think? What would Arya say if she ever found out? But now, he was a cousin. And they’ve never really been siblings. Not in the same way as he had been with Robb and Arya and Bran and Rickon.

She had watched their reunions. Bran and Jon’s had been filled with confused silence, tinged with an unnamable, unknowable lost (Bran is here, but isn’t. A ghost that bleeds and breathes); with Arya, it had been the fiercest hug and tears that settled on eyelashes, never meant to fall upon their cheeks.

They are the remaining wolves. This is her pack now. Together, they can survive.

But the threat of the Dragon Queen looms even bigger than the Night King. Her arrival upon the shores of the Kingdom she wishes to claim and rule is imminent. And what if she learns of a dragon prince hidden in snow, wearing wolf pelt, already crowned as King? What if she finds out that she isn’t even the rightful heir to the throne she was willing to burn thousands for?

Sansa feels her heart stuttering in fear. Sansa is sure that Jon is in danger. She cannot lose him. Not now. Not when she has finally found her father’s promise realized into a man.  

She goes to him at the weirwood, where he had been spending hours gazing at nothing but snow and his reflection mirrored on the frozen pond. He doesn’t mind her presence. Sansa quietly takes his rough hands, so much bigger and stronger than hers. Their fingers curl around each other.

Can she do it? Sansa takes a deep breath. Of course she can. She is a wolf.

“Sansa, tell me what to do.” He begs her, eyes downcast.

She cups his jaw, forces him to look at her. “You belong here. You’re as much Stark as Targaryen.”

Jon sadly shakes his head.

“The North. Bran and Arya and me, we will protect you.  ** _I_ will protect you.**” And Sansa suddenly knows exactly what she needs to do. Here is her future. There is no turning back from this.

“How?” Jon asks, grimacing.

Sansa steps closer – too close her breast brushes against his chest, their breaths mingle. And with complete and utter surety, she tells him: “Marry me.”


	7. stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is as if Sansa had unfurled her palm and offered him his dream, his to take. Jon’s knees almost buckles with the weight of this hope that had wounded more than healed him, all those years of knowing that this was the one thing that he so desperately wanted and could never have. A Stark. True and forever. As Sansa’s husband.

****_**Here and Now | Wildling | Sigils** _

 

 

_“Marry me.”_

Jon stares at her, throat going dry, his breath hitching. It is as if Sansa had unfurled her palm and offered him his dream, his to take. Jon’s knees almost buckles with the weight of this hope that had wounded more than healed him, all those years of knowing that this was the one thing that he so desperately wanted and could never have. A Stark. True and forever. As Sansa’s husband.

He is suddenly careless and greedy. His heart sings,  ** _aye_**! It insists loudly:  ** _Here. Now._**

Jon wants to take it. Wants to take her in his arm and never let her go. He will dare now because he can. Because he isn’t Ned Stark’s blood, but Lyanna’s, the winter rose of the North. The gods and men may still frown at that, but Jon is beyond caring.

Jon grips Sansa’s shoulder, the materials of her coat bunching up as his fingers dig deeply. He does not wish to hurt her but he’s unable to let her go, he needs to anchor her to him so she doesn’t dissolve into nothing, as in his dreams, taking with her his heart, his life.

Jon isn’t sure who moved first, didn’t seem like it matter anyway: suddenly their mouths are welded together. He wants to be gentle with her, but he can’t help but show her how capable he was of devouring her. She doesn’t shy away, her teeth find his lips, and she bites him. Jon lets out a groan of pain and pleasure. 

The kiss feels desperate and needy, but it’s only because they have deprived each other of this for so maddeningly long.

Reluctantly, Jon breaks away. He needs to see her eyes and he is rewarded by the determination that he finds there. Her mouth curls up in a sly secret smile that Jon claims as his. He takes a deep breath that fills his lungs and Jon feels alive. He lets his knuckles brush over Sansa’s arm until he finds her hand and always, their fingers curl together and it is the most wonderful fit.

“I’d wanted to steal you, for a long time now. Even before I knew.” He needs to confess this to her so Sansa knows that he will marry her, but not just for the Stark name and the right to wear the direwolf sigil over his heart.

“Steal me? From The Vale, do you mean?” She asks, perplexed.

Jon smiles, his muscles stretching wonderfully as he realizes how long it has been since he has felt a reason to be happy. “Wildlings. They steal their brides away.”

Sansa lets out a soft chuckle, the hint of laughter is there and Jon wants to make her truly, fully laugh, loud and carefree. He will one day. When all the wars are over and he can have her sit on his lap while he tries his best to make silly jokes. “You’ve already stolen me.”

Jon nods. “I know.”  


	8. a chain around her neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He has no right to even want to see you.” He looks at her tenderly, but his words send a shiver down Sansa’s spine. “Let him come. I want him to dare look at you or talk to you so I can tear him apart with my bare hands.”

****_**Alayne | Summer | Knight** _

 

 

Dark wings, dark words. 

 _My Dearest Darling Daughter, I have heard such disturbing rumors. I hope you have not forgotten: you are alive and back in Winterfell because you are – or rather, you_  were _– Alayne, a bastard who shouldn’t interest anyone. You are foolishly risking your life. Shall I have to ride North with the Vale Knights to remind you? The Dragon Queen is coming. Do not think for one second that your Stark name will be a shield against her._

He knows about Jon, Sansa thinks, panic starting to rise inside her chest. She should have expected this, but she’d been too caught with everything happening in Winterfell.

Sansa hasn’t forgotten about Alayne. She has mourned here as if she was a friend that she had lost. Alayne had kept her alive. Alayne would have given her the freedom to love Jon without consequences but Alayne also was also a chain around her neck that Baelish had so effectively used to manipulate her.

“Is he threatening you? Shall I kill him and take off his face?” Arya is always very casual with her threats. None of them really wants to know if it’s meant as a jape or an exaggeration of what she’s truly capable of.

“Is he?” Jon asks in a low growl, jaw twitching in anger. Sansa’s fingers tremble as she hands the letter to Jon but he ignores it and instead takes her hand, kissing her knuckles.

“We’ve discussed this.” Arya curtly reminds them, nodding at the display of affection. She hasn’t been receptive of their plan to marry but she hadn’t expressly forbidden them to wed either. She’s surprisingly taken everything in stride, except when she’d been told that Jon isn’t her brother. She had been in absolute terrifying rage. Jon is, and will forever be, her brother. Sansa can have Jon as a cousin and as a husband, but Jon is hers as a brother. No maester’s book or Bran’s vision can change that. 

“Aye. I don’t remember anything about hand kissing.” 

“ _Any_  kind of kissing is forbidden if it’s done in my presence.”   

Jon chuckles good-naturedly but he hasn’t forgotten the letter. He picks it up, scanning the content, his face darkening in fury. “You are  ** _not_**  Alayne. You are Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell. My wife-”

Arya clears her throat, a gentle reminder that they hadn’t actually wed yet.

Jon ignores her. “He has no right to even want to see you.” He looks at her tenderly, but his words send a shiver down Sansa’s spine. “Let him come. I want him to dare look at you or talk to you so I can tear him apart with my bare hands.”

Arya nods in approval. Sansa feels a sharp tug inside her chest and she knows it deep in her bones, the moment Littlefinger arrives in Wintefell, he will never see summer ever again. This is where he will end. How depends only on who gets him first, Arya or Jon.  


	9. their song of hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Northerners aren’t the kind of people that are too fond of songs. Songs to them are of no use during the precious summers when they are busy toiling their land, hunting game and filling their stone storages with food and supplies that will hopefully last them during the harsh winters.

****_**Night’s King | Songs | The Wall** _

 

 

The Northerners aren’t the kind of people that are too fond of songs. Songs to them are of no use during the precious summers when they are busy toiling their land, hunting game and filling their stone storages with food and supplies that will hopefully last them during the harsh winters.

Winters always come, it is their truth, but how long it stays is their constant, never changing unknown. Will it be just blessed months? Or will this be the winter that will never end?

Brave knights and fair ladies with their favors delicately sewn in silk are fancy gentle songs that they do not have a taste of. Singing is often frowned upon when winter has arrived and everything is carefully rationed and the pangs of hunger and bitter cold are kept at bay by reserving their energy and huddling quietly around the castle’s hearth, the sound of the roaring fire their only comfort.  

There is no reason for songs and music, not when the Night King is fast approaching, the Wall Brandon Stark had built seems suddenly unable to hold and protect them from the army of the dead that is marching closer and closer towards their home with each passing day.

But on a cloudless winter night when all the stars had twinkled upon them, when their crowned King wearing the red and black cloak with golden dragons dancing on its hem (the Lady of Winterfell made sure that his lineage is made known, her able hands sewing it on the long winter nights) married the daughter of Winterfell, her heavy gray cloak brushing against freshly fallen snow, her auburn hair almost as red as the remaining leaves of their ancient weirwood, the Northerners stood witness. 

And then they knew that songs shall be written and songs shall be sung and these songs will last longer than their own lives and the lives of their children and great grandchildren.

This here, the joining of two old and ancient houses, of fire and ice, this here is their song of hope and it fills them with something that they can hold on to, that they will fight for. The survival of the north, of their home, of their families and children, the determination to fight against all that was threatening their lives, the promise of spring --- a future --- it all shines as bright as the Northern Star in the smile of their Queen, in the strength of their King’s voice as he vowed to protect Sansa Stark and The North, his family, his home, his people.

This is The Wall, truer and sturdier than the one made of stone that will stand between them and the Night King. This is the Wall that will hold until the end of time; this is the song of Jon Snow and Sansa Stark and the fight against the Night King that started one quiet winter night when Targaryen and Stark joined together as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I’d be able to post the last drabble on time. I will be travelling tomorrow and will probably be too busy to go on tumblr/ao3.
> 
> I’ll try though.


	10. promise of spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon will love Sansa in all the days of the seasons and his love will be ever growing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back from vacation and finally had the time to post this. Thank you all so much to everyone who have read through all the drabbles and who had been so kind and supportive. I had so much writing this!

Jon is not certain if he is dreaming. He feels that he is, he fears it so. But he fights against the panic rising inside his chest.

He tightens his hold on Sansa’s naked form, letting her nuzzle deeper into his neck. He drops a quick kiss on her forehead. This has to be real, it will be too cruel if this is just but a dream, to finally have what he had longed for as a boy, an obsession that he had thought was too hopeless to be had: a family where he truly belonged, who welcomes him with open arms, a place where he can and shall put down roots, where his memories will always be filled with friends and family, wife and children whose names were Robb and Eddard and Arya and Lyanna and Sarra.

Jon is already imaging the many summer mornings he will spend walking around Winterfell, his lovely wife holding unto his arms as he showed her all the improvements that they have thought of, planned and accomplished. He will relish the lazy afternoons in spring, when he shall steal her away from managing the household. A glass garden, bigger than the one the war has ruined will be his gift and he will lay her upon verdant grass and make love to her. The heady scent of crushed flowers will always be a reminder of Sansa’s sweetness, the taste of her sighs that he will swallow and will be enough to sustain him; that will erase all the years of ache a bastard boy had once thought was all he would ever have. They will spend countless hours in the early autumn sitting by the weir tree, her hair flashing red and gold like the leaves that knows and hears all of their payers. And in the coldest winter nights, they will keep each other warm, buried under the softest furs, limbs entwined, just like this: without a care in the world, wights and dragons, blood and war, have all turned into faded memories.

Jon will love Sansa in all the days of the seasons and his love will be ever growing.

“What are you thinking of, husband?” Sansa asks, her lips skimming his jaws.

Jon cups her chin, lifts her face so that he can stare into her blue eyes. “You. Our children. Our future together, here in Winterfell.”

Sansa’s smile is so warm and bright, Jon feels the promise of spring grow inside his chest. “I love you, Jon.”

Jon realizes that they’ve exchanged kisses, have been married, have taken possession of each other’s bodies, but they have not yet declared their love. Perhaps they had both feared once they did, it will be an invitation to the gods to tear them apart. But they are both done being afraid. It does not matter that the Long Night is coming, or that dragons were heading their way. They have each other now and it is enough.  

“I love you too, Sansa.”


End file.
